


non qui negat

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Age Difference, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, amateur detective work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In the wake of an unwelcome discovery, Morty struggles to give his grandfather the presumption of innocence.





	1. Surfing the Mortynet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Great Rick-xup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598976) by [mariachiMushroom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariachiMushroom/pseuds/mariachiMushroom). 



> An alternative slant to mirachiMushroom's verse, where Morty launches his own investigations. 
> 
> I hope this humble offering receives their blessing.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear in dimension C-138. Light trickled into the bedroom from under half-cracked blinds, striping Morty's sheets with bars of white. He stretched luxuriously, yawning.

For once, Morty had woken up without the various aches and pains caused by regularly trying to keep up with somebody else's Class C body mods, and even more unusually, was not immediately whisked off for intergalatic adventures straight after breakfast. He dwadled over his eggs Benedict, topped it generously with store-bought sauce, and savoured the exquisitely bland flavour of normality.

By the time he polished off the rest of the crumbs, the only people remaining at the table were his father and him. Jerry slouched over in his seat, clad only in a mustard bathrobe and dad pants, having long abandoned any pretence at having something to dress properly for. His only signs of life was the rhythmic rise and fall of his flabby chest, and erratic tapping motions on his iPad. Occasionally Morty wondered how his father should be euthanized, if only to put everybody else out of their misery. Watching somebody whose main activity was existing should be employed as a kind of torture method, or driving enemies insane.

He rinsed out his mouth with a swig of OJ, wincing as the citric acid stung a small ulcer. These kind of thoughts kept creeping up more and more often, sometimes not sounding like his internal monologue at all. He was deeply frightened of such Rick thoughts, but they and the fear were easily banished by bright morning sunshine and an excellent breakfast. He was a Morty, after all. Mortys did not, as a rule, stare too deeply into the void.

Morty spent the rest of the morning zoned out on interdimensional cable, happily engrossed in the drama of a polyamorous gang of plastic bottles. Claiming annoyance at Morty's clinginess, Rick had cruised off earlier on private business. He would be gone for the rest of the day, and for that Morty was secretly grateful.

Of late, Rick had been acting strange. Stranger than usual, that was. While Morty had long enjoyed being Rick's confidate to some extent, recently Morty had reason to suspect that there was something unsaid between them. A man like Rick had more secrets than most humans have skin pores, a fact that Morty had no intention of ever disrespecting, but he still felt hurt about how pertinent information was being blatantly hidden from him.

All he really knew was that it was an event taking place at the Citadel and more puzzlingly, appeared to be something Rick was actually looking forward to. According to Rick, the Citadel only fared slightly better than the average Middle Eastern dictatorship, mismanagement-wise. He had always refused to go there save for the most pressing of reasons, and part of Morty always resented being denied the chance to meet other Mortys.

At three in the afternoon Morty realized that he was bored out of his mind, and for the lack of anything else, started doing homework. Inevitably, the urge to procrastinate tugged his phone out not half an hour later.

Tapping out a code in the calculator app, Morty activated the connection to interdimensional cellular networks, watching as hidden tiles revealed themselves: strategy games, Zamonium news feeds and most excitingly, Mutter. The social network of choice for Mortys across the galaxy, Mutter provided that sorely needed assurance of sanity, a commodity dearly treasured among the loyal sidekicks of that mad scientist.

Or so this Morty had thought, an illusion that was promptly shattered as he innocently scrolled through a popular Morty's Mutters. @Ktriple3 always seemed to be having all the fun, lounging on deckchairs at pleasure planets and exclusively wearing cashmere sweaters. One particular pixelated post caught his attention, and he eagerly tapped the picture twice. Hopefully it had something to do with Jessica—very occasionally, a Morty lucked out.

With a quiet thunk his phone landed onto the carpet.

Morty staggered to his feet, barely managed the short walk down to the bathroom and vomited noisily. He continued retching for a long time after the last of his lunch was expelled, dry heaving and crying.

That night, Beth abruptly paused during her routine verbal subjugation of Jerry.

"You okay, Morty?"

He looked up from his plate of untouched paella, taken by surprise. Any appetite had been completely ruined by that image lurking at the back of his mind.

"Um, uh," he mumbled, "j-just a little unwell, I gu-guess."

He ground a little mound of rice into paste, horribly aware of how all conversation at the dining table had ceased.

Rick sighed as Summer ignored him in favour of peering closely at Morty.

"You're like, totally wrecked," Summer remarked. "I'd say drugs but. Nobody touched my stuff, haha."

"Aw jeez, man. Pro-probably some minor flu," he said weakly.

Just before dinner, Morty had splashed cold water onto his face in what was obviously a futile attempt.

"R-really?" Rick drawled, raising his monobrow. "You, youu were perfectly—euuurgh—fine yesterday, Morty."

He swallowed loudly and scraped back his seat.

Returning with a large syringe, Rick explained with irritation evident in his voice. "Can't have you sneezing all over Magadum cubs tomorrow."

Rick brushed a hand across his forehead—

_tightened around that Morty's collared neck, hard enough to bruise tender skin_

—and swabbed the crook of his elbow with rubbing alcohol, preparing to plunge the needle inside—

_saliva and tears trailed down the Morty's chin as he choked helplessly, face buried in wiry blue hair_

An inarticulate cry escaped from his lips. Multiple people tensed instinctively.

Morty recoiled with previously unknown speed, jerking away from Rick's grip. The syringe dropped and shattered into tiny fragments, releasing a small puddle of green liquid that hissed steam.

"Fuck, Morty!" Rick grabbed somebody's napkin and threw it down. "Don't use water to clean up, it'll vapourise the house."

"And that was the last of my Kerrian oregano concentrate," Rick noted.

"Enjoy suffering," he told Morty coldly before leaving.

As one body, the remaining members of the Smith-Sanchez household turned to face Morty.

"I-I'm sorry," he said miserably. "S-scared of, of nee-needles."

"Yes, I hate injections as well," Jerry chirped. He forked another prawn into his mouth.

"What? Did I do something?" He pouted as Summer eyed him.

"Thanks Mom," Morty said inaudibly and trudged away.

He flopped onto the bed, not even bothering to shower. Twenty minutes of restless wriggling later, Morty fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.

Sunday morning was just as lovely as the day before, but everything seemed desaturated, greyed-out and darkened. This was likely due to the fact that it was barely six in the morning, a time when the house was fast asleep on a weekend. The caress of pale sunlight unsettled him. Drawing the covers above his head, Morty remembered doing so as a child, hiding from the monster in a crack of the ceiling.

But this time, the monster was downstairs, drinking spiked coffee and cracking jokes with his family.

Logically speaking, Morty knew that the Rick he had seen being pleasured was not the same as his own. Yet, knowing that somewhere on the central finite curve existed Ricks who fucked Mortys—knowing that somewhere inside the dark recesses of his grandfather's mind lurked a certain predilection—this was not something easily forgotten. His brain struggled to contain his outrage and horror, a litany of whys fluttering around like bats in a B movie.

On the surface of his phone gleamed notifications about updates to K-333 Morty's Mutter feed. By sheer reflex, he slid it open to viewing mode.

[K-333]  
for all u pervy bois ;D

[G-772]  
hurts so gd

[β-21]  
<3<3<3

Sprinkled throughout revoltingly admiring comments were some protests of disgust, but they were too few and far between.

Morty laid on his back, unwilling to confront the days and years that lay ahead, seemingly fraught with an impossible quality. With the inescapable knowledge pressing down upon him, he knew that from then on, every interaction with Rick was going to be stained with misgiving.

With trembling fingers, he typed into the search box.

\---

MORTYNET EXPLORER v5.3  
//Search: morty abuse//  
About 57890 results (0.04 seconds)  
Showing page 1 of 6433

[AD] Silent no more: join Morty Lives Matter today! Together we overcome R*ckpression!

Acolytes of The One helpline  
Send us a message or call now from your nearest untraceable phone booth. Open 28/5...

Consult Lawyer Morty  
Highly successful, will help achieve justice in fair trial, LOW LOW LOW retainer 7600RB...

Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Mortys  
You're not the only one.  
Chatrooms  
37 Warning Signs  
Self-defence Tips & Tricks...

\---

It appeared that this sort of situation was the norm rather than an exception.

Morty entered the support forum Helluva Mortified, described as 'a place for bitching, healing and plotting'.

[C-138]  
wtf is wrong with k333s rick??look @ his mutter D:

[δ-02]  
Gr8,,,,another idiot wakes up

[α-557] ☆ADMIN☆  
Delta 02, this is a safe and supportive environment for every hurt Morty. Please act like a mature and civil 14 year-old. You are suspended from this forum effective immediately.

[C-138]  
tks

[α-557] ☆ADMIN☆  
No probs, C-138 Morty. You may find calling the helpline more comforting and useful. It's at the top of the page.

A familiarly strange voice sounded cheerfully into Morty's left ear.

"Hi man, I'm from dimension γ-402, call me Gamma. How may I help you? "

"Uh," Morty paused. "I just n-need to ta-talk to a not-crazy Morty."

Gamma whistled lowly. "New, huh? So you've just found out."

"Ye-ah," Morty admitted.

Silence buzzed along their interdimensional connection, but Gamma stayed on, breathing and waiting patiently.

"I suppose you wanna know what to do next," he finally said.

Morty nodded, then remembered himself and mumbled something affirmative.

"We don't have any explanation for half the shit Ricks get up to, but nobody here really wants to find out anyways. Sorry if this is moving too fast for you, but I have like two more on hold. Your Rick... has he hurt you yet?"

An angry "no" instantly burst from Morty.

Gamma laughed dryly, and Morty shuddered at hearing that raspy cynicism coming from his own throat.

"It's a lie that this doesn't happen to boys, Morty. We all have our own stories, nobody here will judge you. Speak freely."

"I kno-know that! Nothing happened, I only s-s-saw that terrible p-photo..."

Morty squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that it did not immediately appear in his mind's eye.

"Mortys have been brainwashed, memory-wiped and kidnapped. K-333 is only one of many being taken advantage by his Rick. I'm sorry that you found out this way, but think about this: it could be worse."

"Aw geez, aww w-why," he groaned, unwillingly boarding that train of thought.

The other Morty sighed sympathetically.

"Yeah man, I was being screwed by Grandpa for like, a year before knowing anything. Had to install a chip to prevent further memory tampering."

For a few seconds, Morty was overcome by paralyzing horror. He coughed and sputtered, gazing ahead blank-eyed with shock.

Gamma continued speaking in the same casual tone, as if they were talking about the weather.

"He knows that I know, but removing it has a seventy-three percent chance of permanently rendering me brain-dead, so it's cool."

"I can refer you to a good place for chip surgery," he added helpfully.

"No-no thanks, Gamma," Morty grit out. He was about to hang up on this awful conversation, but then Gamma suddenly spoke up.

"You can never tell," said the other boy soberly, sounding far too serious for a fifteen-year-old. "I'm sending you some articles. Be sure to fill out the checklist. Take care, Morty of C-138."

Morty wanted to wish him well in return, but it was too late.

 


	2. Confirmation of Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a tasteless and politically incorrect joke. Though that should be nothing surprising for people who watch this show.

Huddled on his bed in the cool darkness of night, Morty had been occupied by the news features and various bits of information shared by Gamma for hours. As his eyes absorbed the full spectrum of suffering described by other Mortys, a queasy feeling roiled through his gut. Gamma had, deliberately or not, planted the insidious seeds of doubt into his mind. There was no going back now, Morty reflected, as he begun to look at the checklist: thirty-seven items that were apparently warning signs of Morty abuse. He gave up halfway down, unable to tolerate feeling sicker and sicker to his stomach.

Eventually, the last of his resistance crumbled. Morty scribled down the steps to be taken by all suspicious Mortys in his Literature book, as recommended by the SPCM.

Step One was enlist Summer's help. That was followed by a footnote pointing out that this was obviously best avoided if Rick was molesting his other grandchild. Morty had no idea if that was true in his dimension, though the chances were slim. Here, Summer had been entertaining a steady stream of boyfriends, which according to the articles was perfectly normal behaviour. Summers being preyed upon by their grandfather often displayed strange mannerisms such as giggling uncontrollably, going through intense bouts of social withdrawal and for some reason particularly enjoyed dying their hair. This was going to be a step in the right direction.

"Summer? Can I t-t-talk to y-you?"

Morty patted his sister's shoulder without success. She continued texting away, sending a long and incomprehensible string of emojis. A full minute later, she finally set down her phone and stretched lazily, nonchalantly looking back at Morty.

"Yeah?"

"I think," Morty whispered, "I t-think there's s-something going on b-b-between me and Grandpa."

Summer snorted derisively. "Yeah, there always is." She turned her attention back to the small screen on her lap, seemingly dismissive of Morty's entire existence.

At this point every fibre of his being yearned to flee, to run back into his room and let the horrible thoughts circle around his brain like menacing sharks. Yet he knew that it would be a point of no return, catalyzing the complete loss of all his nerve. Morty may have be his father's son, but then suddenly some of Beth's assertiveness miraculously manifested within him.

Placing a palm over Summer's phone, Morty stared directly into his sister's disinterested grey eyes.

"I think that Rick is tou—touching me."

Speaking those words aloud did not exactly take the weight off his chest, but the awful pressure Morty experienced did recede a little. There. Now he was well and truly on the path of investigating the possibility of paedophilia in the family.

"What the fuck are you talking about," Summer hissed. She sucked in a deep breath and got to her feet, dragging Morty down the hallway.

"Morty, you're not kidding me. Are you?"

He shook his head decisively. Armed with a device capable of removing and perhaps even altering memory, nothing Rick was capable of could be ruled out. How could he have ever underestimated the danger of living with somebody able to tamper with his mind? Hatred bubbled up thick and choking at how he could not even trust his own perception of reality anymore.

Summer pushed him into her room and slammed the door shut so forcefully, the lamp on her dresser wobbled.

"Figured your room might be bugged," she explained. Morty noticed that his sister was agitated in a completely unfamiliar way, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Despite the distressing gravity of the situation, Morty was rather moved by her concern.

"If he's listening—" Summer smiled sardonically. "Then we're screwed anyways."

With a few taps of Summer's fingers, Maroon 5 blasted from her iPod and provided an illusion of protection. Morty flopped onto his sister's duvet and stared up at the ceiling.

"So uh, how did you find out?" Summer asked with unusual gentleness.

"I haven't," Morty admitted. "It's just strong feelings at this point. Rick may have wiped my brain afterwards."

His sister sat down at the foot of her bed, listening intently. Neither of them suggested or even though of consulting Jerry.

"It's an infinite universe, Summer," he explained wearily. "Correspondingly, the-the possibilities of w-w-what Ricks do to Mortys are... endless."

"So... you just thought of this?" Summer stared incredulously at him.

"No, I m-mean the other Mortys told me. It happens more often than you think."

Morty shuddered and crossed his arms above his head. Just thinking of all those poor kids made him sick again, and the urge to throw up threatened.

"Hey." Summer's auburn head appeared in his field of vision. "Morty, don't tear yourself up over this. It's like the refugee crisis. Nothing much gets done anyway."

"They're me," Morty said plaintively.

There was simply no way of getting past that.

Discounting the artificial cheer of Top 50 music, negativity descended upon the room so much like fumes of Zyklon B suffocating a chamber of unsuspecting Jews.

"Let me see," Summer asked.

Morty hesitated briefly as he took out his phone, about to betray the pact to keep everything on the Mortynet exclusive to Mortys. But then again this kind of infraction probably happened all the time, at least with Summer. He swiped to the relevant bookmarks and passed the phone to her.

"Gosh," Summer remarked after two minutes of intense browsing. "Rick grinds up taboos into fine powder and eats them for breakfast."

Morty managed a weak smile at her attempt to be humorous.

"There's a ch-checklist of w-warning signs." He pointed. "My Rick fills it up pr-pretty ambiguously."

The listed signs were arranged in ascending order of awfulness, ranging from overly long hugs to bleeding after going to the bathroom.

"Yup," Summer commented as she noted the ones Morty had picked.

Hair ruffling. Affectionate nicknames. Even cracking jokes to that effect, though their grandfather's raunchy sense of humour was nearly constant throughout the multiverse. Then again, the majority of behaviours described seemed to be normal expressions of familial love. Rick was never one to for self-restraint, and did get quite tactile while in a good mood.

Or so it seemed. The human mind was a wonderfully biased organ of sentience, capable of twisting facts to suit its purposes. Summer could not help but callously think that Morty should have investigated without telling her anything, instead asking her to report on anything amiss. With those images shared on the Mortynet running through her mind like a macabre slideshow of doom, Summer knew that from now on, she would always see Rick a little differently. Always knowing what he was capable of in another world, a hair-breadth of difference apart.

Although her head was filled with questions all clamouring for attention, Summer knew that she had to stay on task. Morty had decided that she would be the most helpful family member and she was determined to prove that right, beyond all possible doubt. Although Summer thought that would likely lead to all sorts of nasty Rick-devised punishment involving electric eels and worse. After all, they were dealing with somebody who had shoved an unsatisfactory blaster down the salesperson's oesophagus, powered on.

"Is there anything missing from here, Morty, that tips you off?" she asked.

Morty frowned, his lips twisting.

"Sometimes..." he begun, a haunted expression on his face, jarring incongruously with such childish features. "Sometimes I wake up, g-gasping from this nightmare about be-being squeezed. I always thought it was from the tentacled seahorse in Jayensium E, or sentient s-strangler vines in that private greenhouse we broke into, but."

He worried at a cut on his left pinky, unable to continue. A dreadful emptiness washed over their surroundings, drowning out the tinny music playing from her iPod. Summer was completely unprepared for this nasty shit, alongside all the other troublesome side effects of being related to one Rick Sanchez. She settled for the useless but probably emotionally comforting gesture of patting Morty's shoulder.

"This c-could all be fa-fake, of course," Morty spoke into a flowered pillow.

"Su-re," Summer replied uncertainly. Come to think of it, her grandfather had been rather jumpy of late. But that was only to be expected after his old friend, that weird avian guy with wings, was so insidiously murdered. From then on, Rick had insisted on banning or vetting all her friends from visiting the house. All this time Summer had chalked up everything to mere paranoia. She should have known that nothing about that mad scientist was going to be simple.

"The other Mortys say that a Rick is always guilty until proven innocent. Do you think so, Summer?"

"D-Do you t-t-think that Grandpa..."

"Raped you?" Summer said without thinking. She immediately kicked herself as Morty curled into the fetal position, shaking. A strong desire to kill whoever responsible for hurting her baby brother right there and then made Summer grit her teeth.

"Ugh, shit! I'm so sorry Morty, can you try breathing slower?"

He sobbed silently into the pillow, soaking it with snot and tears. Summer rubbed circles on his back, all the while wishing that her brother had normal problems instead, like math homework.

If having a family meant dealing with stuff like the possibility of inter-generational sexual assault, Summer was so going to join a covent. Or at least get a tubal ligation.

Finally, Morty managed to control himself and stop hyperventilating. He sniffed and blew his nose on the pillow, which was ruined anyway. Looking up at her with blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, Morty croaked "You-You didn't a-answer me."

Summer felt her throat tighten. Stalling for time by brushing down his sweaty brown curls, Summer struggled internally. She settled for a vague acknowledgement of the legitimacy of Morty's fears.

"Dealing with Rick... everything's complicated. Unpredictable. It's not fair to immediately blame anyone. Still, we won't let him off the hook."

Morty nodded morosely. He leaned against her and she side-hugged him like when they were younger. It was kind of sad and weird that this sort of thing was bringing them closer to each other.

"So." Summer sighed despondently.

Morty echoed her.

"I'll keep an eye out, but in this mood, everything looks bad."

A faint smile struggled to emerge on Morty's face. He hugged her for a bit longer.

"Thanks."

They headed downstairs for dinner. Summer had to fall back on her reserves of casual indifference to maintain even a flimsy facade of calm, which unfortunately did not prevent her from flinching when her hand brushed against Rick's fingers during the passing of a salt shaker.

It took everything she had to fix her gaze downwards instead of meeting his inquisitive gaze, focusing on mechanically spooning food into her mouth. Inwardly, Summer was seething. However could Morty sit so placidly next to that man? A few minutes in, and the burden of this secret was becoming too heavy to bear. Then, Summer glanced at her arguing parents and realised that such melodrama was quite unnecessary. There was one competent adult who would solve everything. She waited until Rick got up and left for the garage. Tapping her fork against a glass, Summer raised her voice and tried for her mother's attention.

"Mom," Summer called, a few decibels louder than before. The distinctive pain of being directly kicked in the shin made her shut up. Mustering up all of her nonchalance, she winced internally and glanced at Morty. Her brother stared into his plate with a perfect poker face. Trying again, Summer impatiently cleared her throat, only for Morty to physically cut her off again. He looked directly at her, and somehow she understood instantly in the mysterious way of siblings: Beth was to be kept in the dark.

Just then, Beth asked her daughter what she was so eager to share. Summer frantically improvised and gushed about an upcoming school play with enthusiasm that she did not feel. As her mother's eyes glazed over, Summer felt jealous of her for the first time. Beth was not privy to a secret that had the potential to truly destroy the family—at least before the perpetuator erased their memories.

Following a hasty retreat from family board game time, the siblings reconvened in Summer's pink-soaked room. The hushed conversation that ensured was not exactly productive, but they managed to hash out the game plan. Summer added her own notes to the list in sparkly purple ink. The jarring contrast only highlighted the surreal nature of their investigation.

Morty's stomach turned as he contemplated the next big step: undergo medical examination. He hated the idea of being stripped bare in some chill, sterile environment and baring his body's secrets to strangers. Still, he was warned that this was an absolutely necessary step, required to provide concrete evidence of assault-related trauma. The courts demanded as such, if he were determined enough to pursue legal action. Usually, Mortys were satisfied with re-assignment to another Rick, or an interdimensional restraining order. There were detailed lists of instructions shared by Mortys seized by similar suspicions, listing trustworthy clinics that promised complete anonymity. All were located at least three towns away in dimensions that shared roughly the same geography as his. The Mortys were approximately divided on the matter of bringing Summer along for moral support. Intense embarrassment aside, having an older person around did make such a request more legitimate to the clinics as reported by previous Mortys. Morty bitterly reflected on the cruel twist of fate that made fourteen-year-olds to conduct such research.

On Tuesday morning, while Rick was sleeping off yet another bender, Summer and Morty took the bus. Disembarking, they trotted into a flowered waiting area hung with framed rabbit prints. Summer appeared to be three seconds away from making a snide comment about the décor, but swallowed it after noticing how sweaty and gross Morty's palms were. She smiled brightly at the receptionist, and before long had arranged an appointment.

Soon, Morty had changed into a light green surgical gown, which despite his small stature still managed to leave his butt uncomfortably exposed. Like a headless bug, he shuffled nervously in place.

"I-I'd prefer a, another doctor," Morty forced out. Summer squeezed his hand encouragingly. "My brother prefers a female doctor," she explained. Pursing her lips together, the nurse nodded and waved away the man.

Fifteen minutes of gloved poking and prodding by a blonde Dr. Wells later, the woman voiced his worst fears.

Bile rose up sour and choking in Morty's throat. He realized that until then, the whole thing had felt unreal to him, like some kind of thought experiment.

Glancing at the queasy look on his young face, the rotund nurse clucked her tongue sympathetically. Rolling away the equipment, she muttered something inaudible to Dr. Wells.

Then, a tiny voice reminded him of the mega seed run they had gone on two days before. He coughed weakly and swung his legs over the side of the steel table.

"U-Uh," he said hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but. But that was probably from my own stuff, y-you know?"

Outside his line of sight, Summer sighed and muttered, "TMI, Morty. TMI."

Dr. Wells smiled patronisingly. "Don't be ashamed, Joseph. Ninety percent of the time, physicals show normal readings. I'm only making good guesses based on purely circumstantial evi—"

Noticing the hand signal, Summer shot the good doctor and erased the past hour from her memory. Morty hated the very notion of using such a tool after what had possibly been done to him, but as his sister had said, they had to cover their tracks. Rick had to remain ignorant until the investigation was properly finished. For good measure, they wiped the minds of everybody else in the building as well. A wad of cash placed on the counter would hopefully compensate.

Moments after he went online on the Mortynet, Gamma sent him a voice call request. With a curious mixture of dread and anticipation, Morty accepted it.

"So, how did the exam go?"

Minutes passed as Morty struggled to think of a suitable answer.

"Um, I dunno. The results weren't clear, clear-cut."

Gamma sighed through his nose, and Morty realised with a sinking feeling that he was being doubted again. Why did everyone who helped him have to be so suspicious? Or was he unconsciously being blind to the obvious?

"You know, you can always trust another Morty," Gamma said gently. "Don't be afraid to tell me anything."

Greatly reassured, Morty coughed and tried again. He had nothing to hide, not with someone as wonderfully understanding and caring as Gamma.

"I mean, I think the test was p-positive, but a few days ago we smuggled megaseeds..."

Gamma hummed thoughtfully. It was a nice, melodic sound, and had actually been rehearsed for a good three months. That Morty took his job very seriously.

"Well, I guess it'd be a good idea if we talk face-to-face. Try signing up for the next Citadel Initiation Tour, okay?"

"The what?"

As it turned out, going on the Tour was the easiest way for a Morty to gain access to the Citadel without being accompanied by his Rick. It was an ingenious idea that seemed very unlike Morty-minds, not that this one was complaining. He was soon directed to the homepage of the Morty Liaison Office. Filling out the documents could wait till morning, Morty decided as exhaustion washed over him. He thought grimly that if Rick refused to grant permission, that only served to reinforce his case. After all, ulterior motives were part and parcel of people like that.

It was not a comforting thought to fall asleep with.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive crit is welcome! This is my first fic with any real plot, haha.


End file.
